This isn't Mother Goose
by Maige
Summary: A collection of short stories based on nursury ryhmes, but with a mighty twists. Contains a lot of Cerebral hemorrhaging. You have been warned.


disclaimer: I do not own Sing a Song of Sixpence.

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_Sing a song of sixpence_

_A pocket full of rye_

_Four-and-twenty blackbirds_

_Baked in a pie!_

_When the pie was opening_

_The birds began to sing_

_Was not that a dainty dish_

_To set before the king?_

_The king was in his counting-house_

_Counting out his money_

_The queen was in the parlor_

_Eating bread and honey_

_The maid was in the garden_

_Hanging out the clothes,_

_When down came a black bird_

_And snapped off her nose_

_-----_

The wind whipped harshly throughout the kingdom, yet it made no noise. The clouds sat calmly in the skies, gloomy and grey, showing no signs of disappearing. I frown uncertainly up at the sky, nervously nibbling on a strand of apple-red hair. It had been raining for the last couple of days, and the King has been restless. He'd been getting servants or maids beaten for the most small mistakes, and his employees were starting to get a bit scared, not to mention angry. It was my week to do laundry, but it's been raining to much for me to hang the clothes out. The King glares at me as if I was the one who was controlling the weather.

Nobody liked the king at all. He was too strict, too awful, too vain. Even the queen herself was starting to get tired of him. The only good thing about him was when he was in a good mood. Despite his hard stature, he was wonderful at baking. The king's strawberry jam was famous all over the land, even with some people out of the country itself. But otherwise he was a mean old fart.

I never told it to his face of course, because I don't really feel like getting beaten.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the grey blanket that was once the sky, wondering to myself if it was going to rain.

-----

I was busy scrubbing the floors of the kitchen (my current duty due to the fact that the King didn't want his clothes to get any more wet then they were) when suddenly twenty-four (12 of each) maids and servants came rushing in, wringing their hands worriedly. The maids were muttering to themselves. The servants' eyes rolled restlessly in their sockets, as if they just committed a bloody crime. I frowned tightly, wondering what their problem was. Then I noticed one of the maids, a young, skinny girl with wirey hair, was tenderly holding a small pie. I glanced curiously up at them from the floor. One of the servants, George, glanced back at me, thin lines of sweat running down his bald head. He arched his thick eyebrows, walking briskly over to me.

"What's going on George?" I asked, curiosity at it's brim.

"Secret project," he answered extremely quietly. He reached into his pants pocket and took out a hanker chief, using it to mop the sweat off his head. "I'm sorry, but we can't tell you, seeing as you're one of the King's loyalist maids." I cringed. That sort of hurt, since I knew him for years, and we trusted each other deeply. He frowned tightly at my expression.

"Please don't take that the bad way," George muttered, but with noticeable affection. "You are my dearest friend, but we can't let this plan set off in a bad start. I'll only tell you this." He turned his head slightly, breathing heavily. I could smell mint off his breath, due to the green tea leaves he liked to chew whenever he was nervous. The smell was thick and sweet. George pointed to the young woman who was holding the pie. His bony finger was trembling slightly.

"That pie is for the king. That's all I can tell you." He turned back to me, fear floating about in his brown eyes. The old servant gripped my shoulders with his tiny hands, though he had dainty hands, they squeezed hard. I whimpered softly. He squeezed harder. I stopped whimpering.

"You can not tell anyone about this," George breathed, affection no longer in his voice - he was fully serious now. "Whatever happens, you can not tell _anyone _that we had nothing to do with it. If you do we'll have to kill you. Do you understand?"

I nodded, too frightened to speak. What happened to the love able man I used to have so much fun with? George stared me down for a second as if to confirm himself that I understood. Once he was convinced, he let go of my shoulders and went back to the other maids and servants, once again mopping his forehead with his hanker chief. The servants and maids chattered among themselves, all seeming not able to keep their eyes off the pie. The young, scrawny woman holding onto the pie was hugging it to her chest like a prized possession. After some discussion, they all left the kitchen. As they left, I couldn't hold it in any longer and I started to cry.

-----

Crying did no help, since I had to mop salty tears afterwords. Other than that, I went about my day, doing the usual chores I do. George's voice couldn't stop going through my head. I shook my head and started to hum a song my mother taught me when I was a little girl. I got bored after humming it the 20th time, but at least George's urgent voice had ceased into a whisper.

I was once again scrubbing the floors, but this time it was in the Grand Hall. I had to roll up the great, red mat that covers the hall before scrubbing. I found a thick layer of dust underneath it, which once again cut my work time. As I scrubbed furiously at the floor, urgent to be finished already, I heard foot steps coming up behind me. I took no notice of them, thinking it was probably another maid or servant. I hoped it wasn't George. There was a sudden crack of pain through my head, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the floor, my ears ringing. I could feel my pulse in my head. I blinked, wondering what had happened. Turning my head slightly, the king came into view. He was holding onto a small club, which explained what had hit me. His dark, angry eyes glared down.

"Y-Your highness!" I stuttered, gathering myself up. I did a awkward curtsy, hanging my head. Through my apple-colored hair I saw the king once more swing his club. It struck me hard in the chest. I let out a whoop of air, before falling onto my butt. My chest felt numb with pain.

"Please, my majesty," I barely whispered, trying to sit up. My chest screamed in pain every time I moved. "I beg for you to stop."

The king sneered at me like I was a pathetic fish out of water, flopping around for air. "Quiet, wench." He went to swing his club again. I cringed, awaiting the impact, but none came. I cracked an eye open. The king was walking away, his cape flowing behind him. I uttered a huge sigh of relief. Then I tried to stand. I screamed out loud, clutching my chest, falling over. I couldn't believe how much that little club could hurt. As I tried to get up again, two arms carefully wrapped around me, helping me up gently. I looked back in surprise to see George.

"Don't worry," he said before I could thank him. "After he eats that pie, you won't have to go through that ever again." George gave a thin smile before walking away. He was out of sight before I could say anything.

-----

I studied my chest in front of the dirty mirror of my small room. A large, purple bruise was splayed out. I touched it gingerly, biting my lower lip.

I knew what George and the others were going to do.

Should I tell the king?

Should I tell anyone?

Then I thought of George's threat.

_If you do, we'll have to kill you_.

A shiver flew up my spine. I shuddered violently, almost convulsively. A knock came at the door, making me jump. I threw my shirt back on and tidied up my hair. "Who is it?"

The door opened, reavealing a young servant- no more than seventeen years old. He was new, so I didn't know his name yet. He looked nervous. He kept grabbing at his collar and running his hands through his hair.

"The king requested that you set out his desert tonight," the young servant muttered, wringing his hands. I squinted at him. He was with the group who were in the kitchen earlier.

"Fine," I said quietly, getting up. I walked past him without a word, and to the kitchen. I wasn't surprised to see George standing there as I pushed the doors open. The pie was placed in his hands.

"You ready?" he asked, his bald head shiny with sweat.

I didn't answer him. I simply plucked the pie out of his hands and walked calmly to the dining room, where the king was sitting alone at the table. I wondered where the queen was. He looked up at me as I entered the room. The king growled. "It's about time you got here, wench!"

"Yes, my highness," I said in a hollow voice. I set the pie down in front of him, doing a small curtsy. "I hope you enjoy it."

He merely grunted in reply, picking up his fork and stabbing the pie harshly. The king plucked the piece of pie out from the pan and stuck it in his mouth. The next few moments seemed to go by forever. The king chewed slowly, making small noises as he ate. Then his eyes widened. They rose over to me. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. Without warning, blood seemed to explode from every hole on his face, splattering the pie and the front of my apron. I couldn't help but scream, stumbling backwards. George came up from behind me and slapped a hand over my mouth. I whimpered as the King convulsed violently, before his head slammed into the pie, sending bits of it everywhere. This would've been comical, except for that blood also went flying.

I screamed and cried and laughed all at the same time into George's sweaty hand, as if unsure if which one to do. George held me gently until any noises I made died down. I forced myself to relax, letting my shoulders slump down. I leaned back into George, breathing deeply, my thoughts jumbled, confused at what had just happened. Finally, George carefully took his hand off my mouth.

"He's dead," I moaned, sinking to my knees, bringing my hands up to my chest. George nodded calmly.

"Those black eyes won't stare at us with disgust anymore," he muttered, dragging me towards the kitchen like a rag doll.

The next few days went by sluggishly. Word spread throughout the kingdom slowly. No one seemed to care. Not even the Queen. She almost seemed happy - probably because now she gets the money, especially since she bore no children. I almost felt bad for the deceased king. But then the bruise on my chest started to ache, and any pity was gone.

Things went by as normally as they could, though with less beatings. The Queen herself was a kind woman, thankfully. The servants and maids were happy for once. The kingdom was like as if a ray of sunshine had gone over it, as corny as that sounds.

This certain day, I went to the queen to find something to do. I had done all my chores, but I was bored. I wanted something to do. I found the Queen sitting in the parlor, dipping a piece of bread into a pot of honey. My mouth watered at the sweet smell of the honey.

"Good day, your highness," I greeted, making a curtsy. "I was wondering if there was anything else you would like me to do?"

The Queen smiled with affection. "Well, could you hang up the laundry please? The clouds have cleared."

I nodded, smiling back. "Yes, your grace." With that, I started to the courtyard with a basket of clothes. I was just starting to hang the clothes from a black wire, when a crow came flying from the roof of the castle. I stared at it with curiosity. There was something odd about this crow. It let out a great 'caw', while soaring around in the air. It circled for a few seconds before landing on the wire where I hung the clothes. The wire sagged, until the crow was almost eye to eye with me.

"What do you want?" I whispered, taking a step back.

"_Caaw!"_ the crow responded, ruffling it's feathers. Then it stared into my eyes. The crow's eyes were deep black. They looked angry. They looked disgusted.

"Go away!" I screamed, waving my arms madly, as if I were trying to catch my balance. The crow let out what sounded like a scream. I shivered. It sounded so real. It sounded so _human._

The crow lunged at me. Within seconds, before I could do anything, the crow latched it's beak around my nose. The next thing I knew, pain rocketed through my face, blood blurred my vision, and I couldn't feel my nose anymore. I let out a scream so loud I was surprised my lungs could utter such a sound. My hands flew to my face, trying to find my nose. I screamed even louder when I found that I couldn't find my nose.

The crow laughed, flapping it's wings. The rustle of his feather's banged madly through my skull. The laughter rang throughout my brain.

Blood suddenly blocked my vision, as it burst from my eyes. I let out another scream, falling to the ground. The last thing I saw was George running out to me, surprised, and the crow flying towards him.

* * *

:D

I started this one months ago. I might do more for the collection, if people like it.


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